


sugar me sweet

by epoenine



Series: sweet dream, saccharine [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Communication, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 10:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epoenine/pseuds/epoenine
Summary: Jack wants to be—Jack wants, at the very least, to be able to get things wrong. He wants to be set up to fail from the beginning. To not even have a chance.





	sugar me sweet

**Author's Note:**

> finished this pretty quickly so that it wouldn't be sitting around! this was purely self indulgent  
> just a heads up, formatting puts a space after each italicized word and it's way too difficult to go back and fix it  
> there's a complete list of kinks included in the end notes if you want a warning!  
> check please belongs to ngozi  
> title is from pour some sugar on me by def leppard

Jack doesn’t think Bitty has ever been anything but _nice_ his entire life. Sure, he has his bad days, he’s a little snappish, sometimes, but overall, Bitty’s the epitome of sunshine, and Jack loves him for it. Wouldn’t want him any other way.

Bitty’s love for him is unconditional, which is what started this in the first place, maybe, because Jack’s working on asking for what he wants and Bitty is always so _encouraging_.

Sometimes, Jack doesn’t want nice. Sometimes, Jack wants someone to be _mean_.

Jack doesn’t know how to explain it, and thankfully, Bitty doesn’t push him, just waits patiently for the words to come, but there’s just—being in control all the time exhausts him. Jack wants to be able to give that up. Not all the time—after a satisfying, hard-fought win; after spending hours in the gym, completely drained; the morning of an off day, when he could float around in his head for a while.

Giving into this is supposed to be a reward. Jack wants to be vulnerable, cracked open and raw, and then he wants to be pushed even further, too, just a little past the breaking point. That’s not something he knows how to talk about.

Despite that, Jack knows that Bitty loves him and wants to give him what he asks for and would never judge him no matter what, so Jack brings it up.

Bitty, just to clarify, asks him, “What, like, roughed up a little? You want me to hit you?”

“Not, um, not just that,” Jack answers, and it’s getting harder to meet Bitty’s eyes, not really because of shame, but because arousal has started to burn bright in his cheeks. “You don’t have to.”

“Jack,” Bitty says, gently, “I want to help. You just gotta tell me.”

They’ve done a few things, before—Bitty giving careful instructions as Jack fucks him, or pinning Jack to the bed by his wrists, or pushing his cock deep enough into Jack’s throat to make his eyes water. Compared to those, this seems so _overwhelming_.

Bitty takes everything in stride, never once making Jack feel like it’s weird or wrong, wanting to be broken down. Jack wants to be—Jack wants, at the very least, to be able to get things wrong. He wants to be set up to fail from the beginning. To not even have a chance.

The stilted, flustered conversation takes place in their bed, early in the afternoon. Bitty’s sitting back against the headboard, with Jack slumped down just a little to lean against Bitty’s shoulder. This way, he doesn’t have to meet Bitty’s eyes while they talk. It works.

Bitty, of course, understands why Jack wants his face hidden, his red-flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, so Bitty just smooths back his hair and listens.

Then, when Jack has said all he has to say, Bitty kisses him on the forehead, next on the lips, and tells Jack that he’ll be back in a few minutes.

While he waits, Jack can hear Bitty through the walls, moving around in the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge door, the low murmur of Bitty’s voice. It stops and starts, every few moments, a conversation on the phone—

Bitty’s talking to Kent, Jack realizes. About him, about what he just told Bitty, about being broken down and taken apart.

The thing with him and Kent—well, the thing with him and Kent and Bitty—is fairly new, the three of them trying to navigate a relationship when one is always halfway across the country. It’s difficult, god, it’s the hardest thing Jack has ever tried to do, but Jack has never met anybody more stubborn, more determined, more dedicated than both Bitty and Kent.

When Bitty comes back, his voice doesn’t startle Jack, because he says, gently, “Hi,” as he climbs back into the bed with him, getting close to Jack so he can lay half on top of him. “The Aces are gonna be in Boston tomorrow, so Kent’s skipping optional skate and going early. He’ll be here an hour after his plane lands,” Bitty tells him. “I’d give him forty-five minutes, though, since Kent thinks the speed limit is just a suggestion.” Jack huffs a laugh, because Bitty’s right.

It’s overwhelming, god, how much Jack loves the both of them, how much he appreciates being taken care of, how he feels like the luckiest person in the world.

“Thank you,” Jack says quietly, threading Bitty’s fingers through his own. It doesn’t explain how grateful he feels, but he thinks Bitty gets it.

“Of course, honey,” Bitty replies, and there’s that same feeling again, overflowing and spilling out of him. Jack has always thought that Bitty’s—too good for him, too good for the both of them, really, because Bitty’s kind, and patient, and considerate, even if he’s snarky, sometimes, and Kent’s an asshole, full stop. Neither of them deserve Bitty.

It makes sense that Bitty called Kent. Bitty never likes leaving one of them out of anything important, and this is—more than Jack asking for his wrists to be tied.

Bitty had a feeling that this was more Kent’s area of expertise than his own, anyway.

Kent is—probably the only one who could really be mean to Jack, make it sting, make it ache. Bitty would try, of course he would, but it wouldn’t be _right_. Being mean to Jack would make Bitty feel so, so guilty, and Jack doesn’t want that at all.

Kent, though, he _understands_ , he knows what he’d have to do to hurt Jack the most.

Jack must have fallen back asleep, because he opens his eyes to t sound of the front door closing. A few moments after the noise, Kent makes his way into their bedroom.

Bitty, who had been scrolling through Twitter while he waited, raises his eyes to meet Kent’s gaze.

“See, wasn’t it easier just to use the spare key?” Bitty asks him, locking his phone and shifting on the bed, beckoning him over. “You should have your own.”

Kent rolls his eyes at Bitty, dismissive, because he has a hard time believing he’s really _apart_ of this, of their relationship, but that’s a whole other thing.

As Kent makes his way towards the bed, Jack starts to sit up, but Bitty stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Jack stills, staying in his position, shoulders back against the mattress and head pillowed on Bitty’s thigh.

“Hey, Zimms,” Kent says, his voice quiet, like he’s scared to disrupt the stillness in the room. Jack sees him meet Bitty’s eyes, feels Bitty nod his approval. Kent climbs onto the bed, bought bigger especially for this, and he sits down next to Jack, leans over him, just a little. “You good?”

Jack nods his head, and when Bitty tightens the hand on Jack’s shoulder, prompting him, he answers, “Yeah,” in a low voice, rough from disuse.

Kent meets Bitty’s eyes again, over Jack.

“I’m gonna give you two some time to figure this out,” Bitty tells them, moving off of the bed. “I have some errands to run, anyway. Call me if you need me, okay? For anything.”

“Yeah,” Kent answers him, and then, when Bitty doesn’t look away, he says, with his voice softer, “Promise.”

Jack leans up to meet Bitty for a kiss, smiling when Bitty smooths back his hair before he turns to walk out of the room. Bitty gives Kent a quick kiss, too, and then he’s gone, shutting the door behind him.

“Jack,” Kent asks, and once he has Jack’s full attention, “You gonna tell me if I go too far?” Kent has to check, has to make sure before this starts, because Jack needs this and Kent is going to do everything he can to give it to him.

“You won’t,” Jack replies, looking up at him, unwavering. It’s not enough, doesn’t reassure Kent at all.

Kent huffs, and then, asks him, “You have a safeword, or something?” Jack nods, and Kent raises an eyebrow at him, prompting.

“Montreal,” Jack tells him, quietly.

“Use it, if you need to,” Kent presses, wraps his hands around Jack’s wrists, watches Jack’s eyes flutter shut while he answers with a nod. Kent tightens his grip, minutely, then pulls away altogether. Everything shifts.

“What do you think, Jack? Do you deserve a kiss?” Kent asks, tries to sound bored, unaffected.

Jack takes a breath in, because he wants to kiss Kent more than anything. Kissing Kent is one of his favorite things to do—Kent always kisses with a bite, making Jack feel that sharp and bright sting before soothing it with his tongue, never letting him settle into the kiss properly, keeping him on his toes.

Jack thinks about it, what the right answer is. Swallowing hard, he says, “Whatever you want, Kent.”

Kent smiles, more or less baring his teeth, and says, “Ask me for one, then.”

“Please, Kenny, will you kiss me?” Jack asks, voice still quiet, barely there. He watches Kent think about it, like he could deny giving Jack this, and the possibility of _not_ getting what he wants—even something as simple as a kiss—makes arousal twist inside him, hot.

Kent lowers himself over Jack, pressing him down into the mattress by his shoulders, covering him so completely, making Jack feel weighed down. Kent brushes hips lips over Jack, waits for him to strain up into it before giving in, kissing him, just a brief press of his lips. Jack tries to chase after him, lifts his head up off the bed just a little. Makes him wait. Only then does Kent give Jack what he wants, a deep kiss that makes Jack lose his breath.

Before breaking the kiss, Kent bites down on Jack’s bottom lip, lets him feel the sting of it, just like always, and then he waits for Jack to meet his eyes again, making sure that he’s pushing Jack the right amount and not any more.

Jack doesn’t know what Bitty talked to Kent about, on the phone, how much he told him. Maybe that’s the point, though, that Jack has no idea what he’s in for, no idea what Kent plans to do to him.

In Juniors, they messed around, but any time Kent was outright mean to Jack was because Jack wouldn’t let him be nice. Wouldn’t give in to Kent’s kisses, would choke himself on Kent’s cock, would move Kent’s hands so they pressed onto a bruise. They never discussed— _this_ , taking it further, so far, in fact, that Jack has given up any semblance of control. It’s all in Kent’s hands.

That might be Kent’s plan, because he reaches between them rub against where Jack’s cock is hard and tenting his pants, and then, he says, “You gonna try to be good for me, Jack?”

Jack nods, hitches his hips up into Kent’s hand and takes a breath in shakily. Kent grips his thigh, presses into a day-old bruise, _hard_ , doesn’t let go until the pain spreads deep and Jack gives an answering wince.

“Don’t move,” Kent tells him, taking Jack’s clothes off, stripping him down until he’s left in his briefs. When he’s done, he grinds the palm of his hand where Jack’s hard, the pressure enough to make Jack let out a small groan, his hips jolting up, no matter how hard Jack tries to keep still.

Kent smacks him, handprint pinking on the skin of his thigh.

“Don’t _move_ , Jack,” Kent repeats, grabbing Jack’s jaw and forcing his head straight. “Weren’t you listening? Look at me.”

Again, Jack nods, or tries to, anyway, with the grip Kent still has on his jaw.

“You think you’re good enough at sucking cock?” Kent asks him, waits for Jack’s answer, his silent agreement, nodding his head. “Go ahead, then. Show me that you can do what you’re asked.”

With that, Jack drops down onto his knees, off the bed, settling in the space that Kent makes for him between his legs. Jack takes Kent’s cock out, strokes him once, lightly, almost a tease.

Kent’s hand moves as a blur. Right across Jack’s cheek, this time, the palm of Kent’s hand coming in contact with the soft skin there, oversensitive from being shaved.

“I didn’t say jerk me off, Jack,” Kent tells him. Jack’s cheek is still smarting, eyes watering just a little bit from the force of the smack.

There’s a glazed look in Jack’s eyes, his lashes fluttering against his cheekbone. For Jack, the reminder—harsh words coming from Kent’s mouth, bright pain on his cheek—it makes him more determined. Jack _wants_ to try to be good. Wants to so much that the initial reason, of this, for Jack to— _not_ be good, it goes away.

Jack starts slow, takes only a small portion of Kent into his mouth. The suction, he keeps light, trailing his tongue along the head of his cock. Kent gets his hands into Jack’s hair and pulls, the pain enough to have tears pricking at Jack’s eyes again.

“I know you can do better than that,” Kent tells him, and he’s right, Jack can, so he lowers his head back down to take Kent’s cock deeper.

Jack tries to get more of his cock into his mouth, but the minute Kent touches the back of his throat, his reflex is to tighten up. Jack _tries_ , but whenever he gags, with his throat fluttering around his cock, Kent pulls him back up by the grip on his hair.

When Jack looks up, he can see that Kent is—disappointed. It makes Jack burn.

There are tear tracks on Jack’s face, for a number of reasons—the lack of air, the stinging embarrassment of not being good enough, the biting pain from the hold Kent has on him.

“Can’t do anything by yourself, can you?” Kent asks him, and used the grip he had on Jack to push him down, farther onto his cock, getting him to take it into his throat, just a little.

Kent’s hips lift up, sharply, and it’s enough to have Jack choking. Kent holds him down, makes him work through it, makes him struggle before he lets him breathe.

“I can’t believe I have to do _this_ , too,” Kent says, and even though Jack’s busy with his mouth full, the meaning of the words makes him _ache_. Jack moves his head up and down, works his tongue along Kent’s cock.

Kent pulls him off when he’s close, saving himself for when he fucks himself on Jack’s dick. Jack’s a mess, though, spit smeared all over his chin, tears drying on his face. Jack doesn’t move to clean it off.

“Do you ever do what you’re told?” Kent asks, like it’s _nothing_ , like it doesn’t make Jack’s cock ache, feeling a mix of guilt and shame and _want_.

Kent reaches over to grab something from the top drawer of the bedside table, so Jack takes a moment to press his head against the edge of the bed, trying to catch his breath.

When Kent settles down, he’s stripped to nothing, and he’s lifting himself up on his knees to reach behind him.

Kent tells him, “Get up here,” and so Jack uses the last of his energy to get back onto the bed. Kent tosses a pillow at him, smiles and says, “If you’re gonna fuck me, then you better be hard.”

Jack lets out a groan, at that, feels his blood pound while he moves his hips against the pillow. He has to shut his eyes, can’t bring himself to look at Kent, with his fingers behind him, watching Jack hump a pillow because he told him to.

Just from sucking cock, Jack’s hard, he’s so close, and it takes everything he has to shift his hips, forward and backward, getting closer and closer to the edge.

“ _Kent_ ,” Jack says, eyes shut tight, holding himself very, very still, because he’s straining against the urge to come.

The bed shifts, and Jack doesn’t open his eyes until he hears, “—you fucking _kidding_ me,” Jack’s whole body jerking from the grip Kent gets on his jaw, fingers a little sticky from the lube. Their eyes meet, briefly, as Kent presses his thumb into Jack’s jawbone, and then he brings his hand down across Jack’s face.

Jack’s hips shift forward for _more_.

“Don’t fucking come, what did I tell you?” Kent asks him, voice hard, as he goes back to stretching himself with his fingers. “I can’t count on you to open me up, properly, huh? Now you can’t even—keep _going_ , Jack—you can’t even stay hard enough for me to fuck myself on your dick. Is that it? You gonna come in your underwear like a teenager?”

Jack stays quiet, trying to get it together enough to shift his hips against the pillow, as little as he can get away with.

Kent snaps, “ _Jack_.”

“No,” Jack answers, his eyes shut tight as he pants, shaking his head, “I won’t, I _won’t_.”

“You’re not gonna go off the second you get inside me, are you?” Kent asks him, taking out his fingers and reaching for a condom. When Jack shakes his head in disagreement, he says, “I don’t believe you.”

“I won’t, _Crisse_ ,” Jack says, through gritted teeth, and he stops moving his hips. “Please, Kenny.”

Jack goes easily when Kent pushes him back. Kent climbs on top of him, taking a second to put a condom on Jack, before he sinks down onto him in one swift motion.

“Get it together, Jack,” Kent tells him, voice low. Jack’s head is tossed back, one of his arms thrown over his face, his chest heaving as he pulls in deep breaths. He’s reminded with the fact that Kent’s watching him, waiting for him to fail, and he gets overwhelmed all over again.

Kent has started to move, long drags of his hips, too much for Jack to take, because Kent around him is hot and tight and he’s going to come any second now, unless Kent _stops_.

“Stop, please,” Jack gasps, his hands curled so tightly into fists that the knuckles have turned white. Kent doesn’t. “Don’t move, Kenny, _please_ , I’ll come.”

“I fucking knew it,” Kent tells him, shifts just enough to make Jack let out a wounded noise. “You’re gonna come before I’m even close to being done, because you can’t stop yourself, because you can’t hold out long enough,” Kent says, and it doesn’t feel like a reassurance, because it’s _not_. “Really? You’re gonna shoot your load within the first two minutes like this is the first time you’ve gotten your dick wet? Like a goddamn virgin?” Kent stops moving altogether, gives him a minute to pull himself together.

Jack takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and says, “I won’t,” so Kent’s starts up again, fucking himself back onto Jack’s dick and listening to the pained noises it drags out of Jack.

“I said don’t come, Jack,” Kent tells him, but he doesn’t stop the movement of his hips.

“I _can’t_ ,” Jack says, helpless. “Please, Kenny, don’t make me come.”

“I’m not _making you_ ,” Kent argues, reaching out to pinch the skin high on Jack’s ribs, and continues with, “Don’t do it.”

“ _Please_ ,” Jack gets out, hands still griped tightly into fists, not daring to pull Kent off of him. “Please, _please_ , _Crisse_.” The only words he can say.

Kent doesn’t stop moving. Going into this, Jack knew that this was how it would end up, he _asked_ for this, but it doesn’t make it any better, any worse. How he doesn’t have permission, how he’s going to come anyway, how much goddamn _trouble_ he’s going to be in afterward.

Jack feels hot all over, burning, his skin flushed, lungs aching, cock so hard it’s painful. The embarrassment, too, lights up every one of his nerves. He’s shaking.

“Can’t do one fucking thing I ask you, huh?” Kent says, his voice _hard_ , the grip he has on Jack _hard_ , his eyes _hard_ . All unforgiving. “Can’t hold off just a couple more minutes so that I can come, why, Jack? Because you’re too greedy?” _Burning_.

“Kent,” Jack starts, but it’s useless.

“Figures this is what gets you off,” Kent comments. His hips are still going. “You’re so fucked up. Who would do this for you?” he asks. It doesn’t need an answer. “Nobody, Jack. Lucky I let you, nobody else would make you cry, huh?”

Jack is, he’s crying, and it’s quiet, tears slipping down his cheeks silently, but he’s crying.

“Can’t fucking listen to me, can’t follow orders. Not on the ice, not in bed. What can you do, Jack?”

“ _God_ ,” Jack says, because it’s too much, it’s too much, he _loves_ it.

“You’re lucky you’re so good at hockey, Zimms, ‘cause you sure aren’t a good toy for me to fuck myself on,” Kent tells him, and that’s pretty much it.

Jack comes, inside the clutch of Kent’s body, and the only thing he can feel is the heat of release, of guilt, of shame. It makes every muscle in his body tighten. It makes his cheeks wet.

Kent fucks him through it, dragging every last bit of it out of him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jack says. Gasping. His whole face is red, hair damp from sweat, entire body limp from what it was put through. “Kenny, I’m sorry.”

Kent doesn’t pull off of him, and Jack’s cock stays hard enough that it doesn’t slip out, either. Jack can feel, distantly, the aftershocks that are going to become unbearable in a moment or two.

“Sorry isn’t enough, Jack,” Kent tells him, and it lights Jack on _fire_ . The tone Kent uses is reprimanding, scolding, and Jack can’t _breathe_. Above him, Kent is jerking off, wrist twisting on the upstroke. “I was even gonna give you my come, too, but I don’t think you deserve it.”

“Please,” Jack says, weakly. His voice is thin, brittle.

“No,” Kent answers. When he does come, it’s with a low groan, shuddering, tightening around Jack, and he catches the mess in his hand.

“Kenny,” Jack starts. “I’m sorry—”

“That’s not good enough,” Kent interrupts, lifting off of Jack, “I asked you to do one thing and you couldn’t do it.” He busies himself with the clean up, taking the condom off of Jack to tie it and toss it into the trashcan, bundle the sheets together and shove them to the floor.

“ _Kenny_ ,” Jack tries, so apologetic, and Kent brings his hand down on his cheek, one more time, softer than the previous smacks but still enough to sting.

“Be quiet,” Kent tells him, looking down at him, almost chiding, chastising. “You wanna make it up to me?”

Jack nods his head before Kent finishes the question. “Yes, _yeah_ , I do, Kent,” he tells him. “What is it? I’ll do anything.”

It’s so fucked up, how vulnerable Jack is, how it makes something sick inside Kent twist. Jack’s eyes are shining, bright with tears, with hope, too. Kent knows that Jack thinks he’ll be forgiven, and it’s going to ruin him when he’s not.

Kent reaches his hand down, rubs his hand over Jack’s soft cock. Jack moans, weakly, tears threatening to spill over.

“It’s too much, Kenny,” Jack tells him.

“Shh,” Kent says. Doesn’t stop touching him. “I know. Give me one more, Zimms. Can you do that?” Kent’s handle is gentle, rubbing his thumb up and down Jack’s length, staying away from the sensitive head of his cock. “Can you do that for me?”

Jack doesn’t answer yet, his breath heaving, hips twitching, pulling away and pushing into it. Kent digs his thumbnail into the head of Jack’s cock. Jack lets out— a noise close to a sob.

“Well, Jack?” Kent asks. Experimentally, he uses his thumb and his index finger to pinch, lightly at first, pressure growing until Jack looks up at him. Jack doesn’t ask him to stop, but he lets out a sharp, wordless noise.

“Kenny, please, I can’t,” Jack tells him. Shakes, moves his hips away. “Please, just—can you give me a minute? Please? It’s too much.”

Kent tells him, “No,” and watches the tears spill from Jack’s eyes. “You can take it,” he assures, and then makes a thoughtful noise. “Well, you can’t, but you’re going to.” Jack shudders against him. “You’re gonna, because it’s too much and I wanna see it.”

Jack struggles, just a little, hips working against the grip Kent has on his cock, but he doesn’t say his safeword, doesn’t tell Kent that this isn’t what he wants.

“You know what?” Kent asks, thinking out loud. “I want you to do it yourself,” he says, and shifts on the bed next to Jack. Kent’s leaning over him, Jack underneath him entirely, and Kent gives him a kiss. “Jerk off for me, Jack, I wanna see it.”

Jack reaches a careful, tentative hand around himself, and the friction of his fingers is overwhelming. Jack’s panting, trying to catch his breath and failing with every shift of his hand.

“I _can’t_ ,” Jack says. “Kenny, it _hurts_ , it hurts so bad—”

“It’s okay,” Kent tells him, fake-soothing. He could let him stop. He doesn’t. “Keep going, Zimms, you wanted to come, right?” Jack lets out a sob, because this is his punishment for coming without permission, and it’s his own fault, anyway. He tries to go a little bit faster. “See? It’s not so bad.”

Jack takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself, which doesn’t work, and he babbles, “Kent, _Kent_ , it’s so much. _Crisse_.”

“I know,” Kent says. He doesn’t. “Shh, I’m sorry.” He isn’t. “It’s alright.” It’s not. Kent leans down to kiss Jack, again, tastes salt. He keeps the kiss slow, deep, doesn’t even bite down onto Jack’s lip.

Jack’s hard again, just barely, and the hand working his dick is shaking, trembling. Kent reaches down to help him, brushes over his pink nipples, pinches at them, a sharp pain. Jack whines.

“You’re fine,” Kent tells him, twists them in his grip. He uses his thumb to brush Jack’s tears away. His other hand moves to a bruise on Jack’s hip, and he presses down, makes him ache. “You’re alright.”

“Kent,” Jack says, and his voice is wrecked, it’s destroyed. “I’m— _Kenny_ , I’m close, please, can I?”

Kent hums, tells him, “Yeah, Jack, go ahead.”

Jack comes silently, mouth open, hand working as slow as he can, because it’s too much. Kent kisses his cheeks, brushes back his hair, damp with sweat. Jack tries to get his breath.

Crawling down the bed, Kent looks at the mess on Jack, come across his stomach and his used cock. Kent ducks his head, uses his tongue to lick Jack’s come of his stomach, off his dick. Jack groans, weakly, twitches away, so Kent grabs his hips, stills him.

“ _Please_ , Kent,” Jack says, his voice scratchy and hoarse. Kent comes back up, gives Jack a kiss that tastes like himself. Jack barely kisses back, too tired, too spent. Ruined.

Kent lays next to him, lets Jack pillow his head on Kent’s chest, wrap an arm around his middle. Kent runs his fingers through Jack’s hair.

Jack’s breathing starts to even out, a while later, and Kent says, mostly under his breath, to himself, “You’re amazing, you know that? Can’t believe I get to have you.”

“Kenny,” Jack says, picks his head up. Blush colors his cheeks, even after everything Kent just did to him. Jack kisses him, softly, gently. “Thank you.”

That’s too much for Kent to take, his heart aching, because he loves him and he wants to give Jack everything and he needs Bitty to come back so that Kent doesn’t start to cry because of how overwhelming this all is.

Kent tells Bitty, a quick text that says, _all done, bring zimms like 4 mcmuffins_ , and then turns off his phone. Kent asks Jack, “You wanna shower?”

Jack shakes his head, tells him, “No, I just want to lay here,” and that’s good enough for Kent. They doze, a little, even though Jack’s slept an unreasonable amount today. They’ve exhausted themselves, it’s alright.

Bitty does come back, not that long after Kent sends the text. The bedroom door swings open, and he says, “Kent, I’m not gonna buy McMuffins for dinner. If you want food, I can make something,” while he shrugs off his jacket. When he’s done, he climbs into bed with them. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” Kent answers, nudging Jack, a little, so he would say something, too.

Jack clears his throat before he says, “Really good,” not lifting his head from Kent’s chest, face still a little hidden.

Bitty curls around Jack, reaches over to lace his fingers with Kent’s. After pressing a kiss to Jack’s shoulder, flicking his eyes up to Kent’s for a moment, he says, “I’m really glad you told me what you needed, Jack. I know that’s hard, sometimes,” continues with, “You’re so good for us, aren’t you?”

Jack pushes his face into Kent’s chest, feeling warm and loved and kept.

“He really is,” Kent says, above him, while his free hand sifts through Jack’s hair, gently.

Bitty holds onto Jack tighter and tells him, “We love you so much, honey.”

Jack’s head feels a little fuzzy, and he’s not going to be getting up to do anything anytime soon, but it’s what he wanted, what he needed, and they gave it to him, and he feels overwhelmed.

“Love you guys, too,” Jack murmurs, lips touching Kent’s chest, and his eyes flutter closed when he feels twin kisses, one on the back of his neck and one on the top of his head.

**Author's Note:**

> list of kinks: dom/sub, painplay, impact play, orgasm delay/denial, a little bit of verbal humiliation (not extreme), facefucking, overstimulation, and a healthy dose of aftercare!  
> thank you so much for reading!


End file.
